


DLC

by AsheRhyder



Series: Searching For Game [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Identity Porn, M/M, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2018-12-19 09:52:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11895228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsheRhyder/pseuds/AsheRhyder
Summary: Extra shorts from the world of "Searching For Game...", including 'The Ballad of Jack and Gabe', 'Super Shimada Bros.', and "Camping".





	1. Jack Be Nimble (But Not So Quick)

**Author's Note:**

> Several real people have been replaced with fictional ones for the purpose of this story. Many apologies go out to them. Any resemblance to real companies or products seen in this fic are purely for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> (Chapter 1 - Pre-Game)

Jack was not, strictly speaking, a “starving artist”, but he wouldn’t have gone to the gym every week if Ana weren’t compensating him with a free membership for the logo and branding work he did for her. There were cheaper ways to hunt for artistic inspiration, even if the gym was the single most concentrated gathering spot for... athletically-inclined men. 

 

It was muscle and movement studies, he swore. Honest. 

 

Case in point, the man Jack mentally dubbed his Muse finally moved from leg curls to the bench press. Jack knew the proper names of muscles almost as well as a real fitness nut or an actual medical student, but the terms flew from his rational mind as his Muse bent over to inspect the weights on the bar. Most of Jack’s higher thought processes evaporated, too. Damn, did the man have to wear such short gym shorts? It made Jack’s shorts more than a little uncomfortable, and the treadmill was not a good place for that to happen. 

 

He focused on his breathing for a while, staring blankly at the distant wall without letting his eyes drift back to his Muse-- 

 

No good. His treacherous eyes sought out the perfect shoulder-waist-hip ratio from across the room, worshiping the swell of ribs and pecs, the shine of sweat on skin, and the curve of the smile on his Muse’s lips… before coming to a halt at the amused light in the man’s eyes, staring straight back at him. 

 

His Muse winked. Jack made a startled, strangled sound and tried to flail backwards, but only ended up falling off the treadmill. His Muse laughed. It was a glorious laugh, the kind that sounded like it took his whole body. Jack didn’t stick around to check. He scrambled to his feet and booked it to the locker rooms, stopping only long enough to pick up his wallet and keys before running home. And, thanks to all those “inspiration sessions” on the treadmill, when Jack ran, he really  _ ran _ .

 

It was two weeks before he cobbled together his courage and pride and went back to the gym. He would have held out longer, but he had deadlines to meet and artist’s block taunted him by blurring his memory of the shift and slide of muscles. He slunk into the gym, stashed his keys and wallet in a locker, and managed to snag the treadmill in the furthest corner before his Muse spotted him. 

The man descended on him like a force of nature, all raw and unstoppable power. Jack fought the urge to try to duck behind the treadmill. It wouldn’t do much good to hide the evidence of his attraction, and worse, it would probably draw more attention. 

 

“Where the hell have you been, blondie?” his Muse demanded, propping his hands on his hips in a way that unfairly accentuated his waist and the V lines of his pelvis. “You can’t just drop a routine like that! It’ll wreck your metabolism and endurance.” 

 

“Uh, what?” said Jack, oh-so-eloquently. 

 

“You’ve been on this treadmill three times a week for the past three months. If you break suddenly, it screws up your rhythm.” Unfairly, his Muse ever so slightly rolled his “r”s. It wasn’t an actual accent, just enough of a quirk that it made Jack think of what else that tongue could do.

 

Another man might have choked on his own tongue, suffocated in his embarrassment to be so noticed, or just quietly expired to save himself from his Muse’s laser-intense gaze. Jack, however, was a flippant bastard at heart, and all that laser-cutter stare did was expose it. 

 

“Just because I haven’t been here doesn’t mean I haven’t been running,” he said. “There’re plenty of paths out through the park and the beach to jog on, too.” 

 

“Oh, did you enjoy the change of scenery?” The Muse shifted his weight and cocked an eyebrow.

 

“Oh yeah. Absolutely fantastic views.” Jack’s resting face was something of a deadpan, and it edged his voice with sarcasm. His Muse faltered slightly, eyes going guarded. 

 

“I guess you’re more into  _ Mother _ Nature then, huh?” 

 

At that moment, Jack Morrison realized that he was an idiot. 

 

An idiot being flirted with by another idiot. 

 

He settled into a more open stance, and a smile curved across his mouth. 

“I don’t think so,” he said. “None of the trees ever accepted my invitation to get coffee.” 

It took a second for his quip to properly register with his Muse, but it was worth the wait to watch his dark eyes light up. 

  
  
  


His Muse’s name was Gabriel, and apparently he worked with computers. Gabriel was a little vague about the exact details, but then again, so was Jack when he said he was a freelance artist. 

 

“So, I’ll be picking up the tab, then?” Gabriel laughed and smirked, but Jack just gave him an arch look. 

 

“There’s more money in it than you think,” he said. “Plus you pick up a neat network of favors owed.” 

 

Gabriel’s gaze raked down Jack’s body and back up again. 

“You’ll have to tell me about some of them sometime,” he said. “If any of them are appropriate to be repeated in public.” 

 

“Let me tell you about the time I did some design work for a gym logo and it ended up getting me a really hot date…” 

  
  


Coffee turned into dinner, turned into movie nights and meeting up to jog around the park and, cliché of clichés, walking on the beach at sunset. They made hot chocolate in each others’ apartments at one in the morning while they argued over the merits of characters on TV and coffee at six thirty as they criticized the same show. Jack burned his coffee every time he tried to use Gabriel’s fancy machine. Gabriel got whipped cream in his mustache and made Jack kiss it away. Before Jack realized it, they’d been together three months, and Ana gave him knowing looks every time Jack and Gabe came to the gym together. 

 

“Have you shown him your portfolio yet, Jack?” She asked, smiling like a cat who got both canary and cream. Jack went red for reasons that had nothing to do with the miles he put on the treadmill. “What about you, Gabriel? Have you shown Jack your project?” Gabriel was better at deflecting, and he put on a wide smile. 

 

“No one’s interested in the gritty-details of coding,” he said. “Not even other coders. That’s why the other guys have to explain things to ducks.”

“Ducks?” Jack raised an eyebrow. 

 

“Some coders like to talk out their code to find their bugs. Only no one wants to listen to it, so they talk to rubber ducks. Me, I come to the gym and work it out in reps.” 

 

Jack noticeably appreciated Gabriel’s arms, waist, and thighs. 

 

“Must be a really tough job,” he  swallowed. Gabriel shook his head. 

 

“If you saw the kind of stuff Shimada designed… well. Let’s just say he gives me a chance to repeatedly push the limits.”  

 

“Thank God for that,” said Jack. 

 

Ana put her head down on the counter and groaned. 

  
  


Three months became six, became nine, became a year. Jack and Gabriel came to know each other better and in every sense of the word. They "broke in” almost every flat surface strong enough to hold their weights in both of their apartments to the point that their neighbors gave them congratulatory looks whenever they passed in the halls. They shared fries, and clothes, and even toothbrushes after Jack accidentally fell asleep after a long night. The only things they didn’t share were their offices. Whatever it was that Gabriel did with computers was as mysterious as what Jack drew on his drafting boards. 

 

But all secrets that are not forgotten must come to light. And one night, they did. 

 

Gabriel settled in deep on Jack’s couch with the bowl of popcorn nestled in between his hip and the armrest. Jack flipped through the dwindling number of DVDs in his collection that they had not yet watched together, most of which were deeply embarrassing and he didn’t want to admit to owning. 

“Come on, Goldilocks,” Gabe drawled. A smile tugged at his lips, curling the line of his moustache. “Pick, or forfeit your movie choice.”

 

“Don’t rush me,” Jack growled back. “You can’t rush art.”

 

Gabriel somehow slipped off the couch and up behind Jack without making a sound. He slid one arm around Jack’s waist, the other around his chest, and hooked his chin over Jack’s shoulder. 

 

“If Art wants to watch a movie while he’s still got blood going to his brain for cinematic critique, I can abso- _ lutely  _ rush Art,” he purred. He glanced down at the movies in Jack’s hands. Gabriel stiffened, but not in the fun way. Jack sighed. 

 

“Which one are you judging me for?”

 

“I’m not judging,” replied Gabriel, smooth as butter. Cold butter.

 

“That is the single-most judging face I’ve seen on you, and I watched you preside over a Halloween costume contest.”

 

“That’s not fair. If I had to see one more lame attempt at a “sexy nurse” I was going to throw up. I know actual medical professionals. It’s disrespectful--”

 

“Gabe.”

 

Gabriel huffed, and Jack shivered at the rush of warm air across the side of his throat. 

 

“That one.” He tapped one of the cases. Jack felt his heart lurch, and Gabriel tightened his grip. 

“Not a fan of the game…?” Jack said. “It’s not a fantasy thing; you liked Lord of the Rings well enough…”

 

“I never watched the movie.” Gabriel buried his face in the curve between Jack’s shoulder and neck. His facial hair tickled the sensitive skin there as he mumbled. “I didn’t want to see what they’d screw up.”

 

Enlightenment dawned on Jack, brilliant but slightly to the wrong side. 

 

“Ooooh, is that what you do on computers all day?” Jack chuckled. Gabriel groaned. “You’re one of those professional online streamers, huh? Did you spend a lot of time playing this one? What class do you like best? What’s your highest leveled character--?”

 

“Jack.” Gabriel pulled back slightly, a miserable but amused expression on his face. “I built the game.”

 

“...what.”

 

“Not all of it, that would have been a nightmare, but… I’m one of the developers.”

 

Jack’s knees went out from under him. Gabriel caught him and swept him back to the couch. 

 

“Gabriel _Reyes._ _That_ Gabriel Reyes. I‘m dating _the_ Gabriel Reyes.”

 

“There’s about thirty-two of us in the tri-state area. It’s not that uncommon of a name. I really didn’t think -- wait, you read the credits? Have you been sneaking games in the background, Golden Boy?”

 

Jack whimpered. 

 

“How is this just coming up now?”

 

“Well, don’t like to talk about work.” Gabriel shrugged. “Like the duck thing. People think it’s a lot more glamorous than it is, and it’s always disappointing to them when they find out the truth.”

 

“This isn’t disappointing. This is embarrassing. Ana is going to die laughing when I tell her-- Oh god, did Ana know the whole time? She’s seen my portfolio -- oh GOD, my portfolio--” Jack lurched forward. 

 

“Hey, hey! Calm down, Jack --”

 

“Nope, no can do, gotta burn my life’s work and throw myself on the pyre of my shame--”

 

Gabriel dragged Jack back to the couch and kissed him thoroughly. 

 

“No self-immolation,” he growled. “I like my boyfriend medium-rare, thank you.”

 

Jack grabbed one of Gabriel’s wandering hands.

 

“Could have fooled me,” he said. “The way you go, I’m usually ‘well-done’.” Gabriel groaned and dropped his head to Jack’s chest. Jack laughed. Gabriel sat up and pouted. 

 

“Jack. Please?”

 

Jack groaned. 

 

“You have to promise not to break up with me over this,” he said. “Make something up if you have to.”

 

“It’s not illegal, is it?” Gabriel raised an eyebrow. 

 

“Eh…” Jack waved his hand. Unimpressed, Gabriel nuzzled him and pressed more kisses to his neck and face. Jack batted him away before he could get anywhere too ticklish. He walked to the office, paused at the doorway, squared his shoulders, and threw open the door. 

 

Gabriel stared. 

 

The walls of Jack’s office were covered in… stuff. Anatomical diagrams, architectural layouts, and post-it notes about color palettes sprawled as far as the eye could see. Maps unfurled over cabinets of art supplies, maps Gabriel instantly recognized from the world of the game he built. A row of models kept watch from a high shelf, familiar characters he knew down to their code. And on the desk… Well. Gabriel wasn’t shy or a prude, but even his eyebrows hiked up at the graphic depiction of the carnal acts his game’s characters managed to perform.

 

“I don’t think that position’s possible in full plate armor,” he managed to say. Jack made a sound of heartfelt despair, but Gabe reached down and pulled up the big black portfolio. He flipped through the contents, turning pages with silent, intense focus. 

 

“For fuck’s sake, say something, please,” Jack begged when Gabriel stalled out at the picture of the would-be paladin who became an undead scourge. The character had half his armor off, revealing swathes of frosted muscles and a hip-to-shoulder ratio that Jack had spent weeks staring at in the gym. 

 

“We have this in the office,” Gabriel said. 

 

“Bwuh?” replied Jack. 

 

“Shimada bought it at a random convention. He thought it was hilarious. It’s hanging on my door right now.” His tone was higher than normal, stretched thin with disbelief. 

 

“Oh God, what do I have to sacrifice to get the ground to swallow me up right now?” Jack prayed to the ceiling. 

 

“You’re on the third floor, jackass. Have some consideration for your neighbors below.” Gabriel set the print down. “You’re Sketcher:76. Holy shit.  _ Holy _ .  _ Shit _ .”

 

“You know my screen name?” Jack wailed. 

 

“I follow you on Tumblr!” 

 

“He follows me on Tumblr. I made pin-up fanart of his video game using him as a  _ model _ and he follows me on Tumblr. Have I died? Am I in Hell? Is there a camera crew to jump out at me? Am I being Prank’d or something?”

 

Gabriel crossed the office in two long strides and grabbed his boyfriend by the shoulders. “First of all, the show is called Punk’d, and no, you’re not on it,” he said. He kissed Jack, hot and heavy and hungry, pressing up against him until he nearly pinned him to the wall. 

  
  


“And second?” Jack gasped when they came up for air. 

 

“Second, I want you to come into the office and talk to the gang about some media content to go with our new project.”

 

“Nepotism--” Jack gasped, and Gabriel kissed him again until he stopped trying to protest. 

 

“How do you feel about superheroes?”


	2. Super Shimada Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji and Hanzo's discussion during Level 10, which Jesse could not catch. In case anyone wanted to know how THAT mess went.

Genji pounded on the door, hope beating in his chest like a captured bird against the bars of a cage. 

 

“Hanzo! Hanzo!” he shouted.

 

The door opened, revealing a confused face changed by the years but still dearly familiar to him. 

 

“Genji?” Realization and guilt blossomed, and his brother slammed the door shut again. 

 

“Hanzo! Brother, please! I know it’s you! Be reasonable!”

 

The door flew open again just long enough for Hanzo to drag Genji inside. His brother’s fury was strangely comforting, and the younger couldn’t help but smile. 

 

“I am not the one howling at the door like a dog! Shut up before you wake the neighbors!”

 

“It  _ is _ you! It’s nice to see your pleasant personality is still intact after all these years.”

 

Hanzo stiffened. 

 

“I changed my mind. Leave immediately. How did you even find me?”

 

“Do you want me to leave, or do you want an explanation?” Genji drawled. 

 

“I want the explanation first, and then to be left alone, though I will settle for the latter if you will not grant the former. You are always so obstinate--”

 

“ ** _I_** am obstinate?!”

 

“Never mind. An explanation or your immediate departure. Out the door or out the window.”

 

“You spoil me for choices, brother.”

 

“Off the balcony it is!”

 

Hanzo threw open the balcony doors, took one step out, and froze. McCree reclined on the balcony below, idly staring upwards. 

 

“Howdy,” he said. 

 

Hanzo froze, all color vanishing from his face. 

 

“Brother--” Genji took a step towards him, but Hanzo suddenly backpedaled, pushing Genji back inside. 

 

“Front door it is!”

 

“Hanzo, please! It’s been ten years! Won’t you talk to me?”

 

“Ten years, two months, and eighteen days,” Hanzo muttered, barely audible. “So what? You were the one who decided to leave. I owe you nothing.”

 

“I know, but I owe  _ you _ something.” Genji watched his brother pause, curiosity halting his steps. “I owe you an explanation.”

 

“I have said as much--”

 

“And an apology.”

 

Hanzo’s mouth hung open a moment, then clicked shut. 

 

“I was young and angry that I could not have my way. I did not know how to see the world through eyes other than my own. Our family’s strict rules made no sense to me, and I made no effort to understand them. If I had stayed, we would surely have killed each other.”

 

“ _ We  _ most surely would not.  _ I _ did not neglect my training.”

 

“Hanzo!”

 

“You did!”

 

“That is not the point! I am trying to apologize for not being more understanding while you were an unsupportive dick!”

 

“I was trying to keep you from throwing your life away on a poorly planned dream!”

 

“I know that  _ now _ , but you were a jerk about it  _ then _ , and anyway all you did was spur me on, because now I am a successful game designer!”

 

“Two games does not count as “successful”, regardless of their popularity.” Genji opened his mouth to argue, paused, and then narrowed his eyes. Hanzo tensed up. “What?” Genji smiled. “...  _ What? _ ”

 

“You follow my career.”

 

“What? No!”

 

“You kept tabs on me all this time?”

 

“Do not be ridiculous!”

 

“Have you played them? Do you still play at all?”

 

“Genji, no--”

 

“You used to be quite good, if I recall, though you preferred RPGs to fighting or FPS… wait, do you play--”

 

“ _ No _ ,  _ Genji _ .”

 

“Oh come on, it’s right up your alley!”

 

“I do not play PC. If I accept your apology and extend one of my own, will you please leave?” Genji said nothing. Hanzo sighed. “I am sorry I dismissed your dedication to your work. I am sorry… I am sorry I told you that you could not come back. But these things are in the past, and no apologies will fix them, so please just… just leave me alone.”

 

Genji stared. 

 

“That’s it? After ten years, two months, and…?”

 

“Eighteen days.”

 

“Eighteen days, we are finally reunited by serendipity, and all you have to say is “Sorry I sucked, go away”?”

 

“What do you want me to say? What else  _ can _ I say?”

 

“How about “I missed you?” “How are you?” “Would you like to sit down?” “Can I offer you some tea?” Those are fairly traditional.”

 

“Genji--”

 

“Do you really want me to go, brother? Are you really going to send me away again?” Hanzo flinched. Genji waited a moment, and then another, but Hanzo didn’t look up. Genji’s shoulders slumped. “I see. Very well. I am sorry to disturb you. I will not trouble you again.” He took a step to the door, and Hanzo flinched again. 

 

“I did,” he said. Genji paused. “I missed you. I did. I do. But it is my fault. I have no right to miss you when I told you to stay away.”

 

“I missed you too, Player One.”

 

Hanzo hissed a laugh. 

 

“That stupid nickname--!”

 

“It’s not stupid! You are the Mario to my Luigi.”

 

“Mario is a terrible brother. Then again, so am I. It is still a stupid nickname.”

 

“You are not a terrible brother.”

 

Hanzo stared at him. 

 

“I disowned you, did not speak to you for ten years, and threatened to throw you off a balcony within five minutes of seeing you again.”

 

“Ah, but you didn’t!”

 

“Only because my downstairs neighbor was using his balcony, and I did not wish to disturb him.” Genji tried very hard to keep a neutral face, but even after a decade Hanzo could still read his tells. “What?”

 

“Nothing! You are just very concerned with your neighbors.”

Hanzo’s face went slightly redder.

“It is polite and respectful. Two qualities I am sure you have yet to learn even without our family’s dubious teaching methods holding you back.”

 

“So you finally admit that their methods are crap?”

“I never said they were anything else, but they were our family and we were meant to respect them and their wishes.” 

 

    Genji’s eyes narrowed, and he cocked his head to the side. 

 

Hanzo scowled. “Now what?”

 

“They  _ were _ our family.” Hanzo tensed. “Hanzo, did you leave too?”

 

Hanzo curled in on himself, broad shoulders slumped in defeat that Genji had never seen on his older brother before. 

 

“Must you unearth my every transgression in the first quarter-hour?” He sighed. “Yes, Genji, I am a hypocrite. I disowned you for leaving, only to then abandon them myself. Are you satisfied? Or shall we find some other way to shame me?”

 

Genji stared harder. Hanzo slowly tensed again, every muscle preparing to spring away. 

 

“Why?” Genji asked. Hanzo groaned. “You had everything. You were heir and master of the family, and you were so good at it--”

 

“I was good at it, but that does not mean I ever enjoyed it. It was what I was supposed to do.”

 

“And you always do what you are supposed to do.”

 

“Right up until the time when I could not. I was just as miserable as you, but I could no longer see the point in staying once you were gone. I would not have been a good leader when the very sight of the elders made me want to vomit.”

 

“... I would have paid good money to see that.”

 

“If you stay much longer, I may be sick anyway.”

 

“Hanzo…”

 

“What do you want from me? You made your apology. I made mine. You have proven me wrong at every turn, and have been better than I ever could be. When will you be satisfied?”

 

“I did not come for satisfaction, asshole! I came because I missed you!”

 

“And what was your plan? What would you have done if I were not home? If I had not received you?”

 

“It doesn’t matter because you are and you did.”

 

“Poorly planned as ever. I pity the coders who must find a way to realize your far-fetched dreams.”

 

“Gabriel is actually very good at turning the impossible into reality, and Zenyatta has the patience of a mountain.”

 

“Fortune continues to smile on you, then. Congratulations.”

 

“Are you trying to make me leave?”

 

“I have been trying since you arrived. You simply have not been paying attention.”

 

“I have forgiven you for your actions against me.”

 

“I am beyond forgiveness, Genji.”

 

“Always so bossy, brother. You do not get to decide what I can and cannot forgive. I decided long ago that I would rather have a brother than a grudge. If you want the same, the opportunity is here. Now.”

 

Neither brother said anything for a long time, but Genji did not turn to leave, and Hanzo did not look away. Finally, Hanzo stood up and walked to the television stand. He reached underneath and pulled out a game controller, which he tossed to Genji. 

 

“I have not needed a second controller in years, but I will remedy the lack before your next visit.” Genji grinned. “Providing you give me some warning next time. Do not just show up unannounced!”

 

Genji beamed. 

 

“Is next week good for you?”


	3. "Camping"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has limits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Kem for beta'ing!

No relationship ran smoothly all of the time, and that was true even for Hanzo and McCree. For as much as they loved each other, as much as they liked each other, they were still two men with vastly different lives. McCree’s hours changed at the drop of his cowboy hat, fluctuating whenever inspiration and research clashed, and spiraling dangerously around requests from historical societies and writers’ conventions. Hanzo’s schedule was more rigid; a strict nine-to-five imperiled only by the ridiculous amounts of overtime his company managed to log at the end of every quarter. In his self-imposed exile, Hanzo joined a company that had neither ties to nor knowledge of his family’s influence, and he usually enjoyed the effort of honest, anonymous work, but a man could only do so many sixty hour weeks before something strained.

In this case, it was his relationship with McCree.

“C’mon, darling, I just need you to weigh in,” McCree cajoled, leaning over the back of Hanzo’s ergonomic home office chair.   
  
“It does not matter to me,” Hanzo muttered without taking his eyes from the screens in front of him, “I trust your judgment.”

McCree sighed.

“Look me in the eye when you say that,” he said. “You only ever say that when you’re distracted.”   
  
“I am very busy right now,” Hanzo deflected.

“I know, but I’ve hardly seen you in ages. I miss you, honeybee.”

“This is important, Jesse.” Hanzo glanced between three different spreadsheets, but never to McCree.   
  
“So is this,” replied McCree, unyielding. “You said you’d do dinner with me tonight. We made plans for this last week. I even said we could do delivery so you wouldn’t lose time dressing up nice and driving downtown.”

“I am sorry that my work does not allow me to wander off whenever I like,” Hanzo snapped. “Some of us have responsibilities.”

McCree stood up. The harsh light of the screen did unflattering things to his face, bleaching out his already sun-forsaken skin to a mournful pallor and sharpening the bruise-like shadows under his eyes and cheekbones. Had Hanzo looked up, even he would have seen the line he was about to cross, but he did not, and McCree did not make him.

“Hanzo, please,” he said softly. “Just… just pick a place.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Hanzo growled.

“Okay then.” McCree breathed slowly in through his nose and out through his mouth. He squared his shoulders and took one step back, then another, and then turned on his heel. In just his socks, he made no sound as he walked to the door and collected his boots. He did not say goodbye. He did not slam the door. He did not stomp downstairs or throw open his own door and rage in the privacy of his own apartment.

What he did instead was he walked next door and knocked on the door of 3A, where he asked Lena and Emily to water his plants in a few days.

“Sure, luv, are you and Hanzo going somewhere for your anniversary?” Lena asked. McCree’s genteel smile didn’t even crack.

“Not everyone celebrates six months,” he laughed. “Nah, Hanzo’s swamped in work, and I got this thing outta town. I don’t want to distract him while he’s so busy.” He handed Lena his spare keys, “Thanks again.”

“No problem!” Lena gave him a little salute. McCree just chuckled and headed downstairs. The smile fell off his lips as soon as Lena closed the door. By the time he made it back to his place, his hands shook and his eyes blurred. His bones ached, his lungs burned, and he was so, so cold. The walls seemed to close in on him, but every muted, muffled sound of the lives around him hollowed him out, carved his heart from behind his ribs, and left it bleeding on the floor.

McCree moved with the kind of calm that only came from the wrong side of stressed out. He sent e-mails to his agent and his editor to let them know he’d be away a few days, submitting the final draft of the new book he'd worked himself to the bone to complete. He packed a bag with water, a lighter, and his good knife. He wrote two words on a post-it note, wrapped his mother’s serape around his shoulders, and locked the door behind him.

The post-it went on Hanzo’s door.

“GONE CAMPING,” it said.

And with that, he headed out to the desert.

The tense air in the hallway of the building stirred slightly as the woman in 3C struggled with her door. Between the humidity and the breeze, the post-it note on Hanzo’s door fell to the ground, eventually sticking to 3C’s shoe as she carried out her recyclables. She didn’t notice until she reached the dumpsters, at which point, thinking it was a piece of trash that slipped out of someone else’s bag, she disposed of it.

Upstairs, Hanzo worked on undisturbed. He surfaced from his spreadsheets only long enough for cereal and coffee, and, in one moment of inattention, cereal in coffee. When he finally finished crunching numbers, he made it only as far as the couch before passing out.

Genji found him there sometime later.

“Someone looks like he’s had a good weekend so far,” Genji teased as younger brothers were wont to do. He perched on the back of the couch and poked his elder sibling relentlessly where the boneless sprawl gave him easy access to Hanzo’s ribs.

“Mmmrgh. What day is it?” Hanzo groaned. “Am I dead?”

“It is Sunday, and no, you are not dead.” Genji smirked. “So you and Jesse had a good anniversary, huh?”

“Our anniversary is not until Thursday,” he said. “I just finished the annual reports so I could take off early.”

Genji didn’t say anything immediately, and Hanzo took the moment to haul himself up.

“You got together at the convention, right? The fourth of November?”

“That did not count. We happened to be at the same event--”

“Happened? Do you know how hard it was to bribe both of you into attending?”

“Regardless, we did not plan it, and therefore it does not count. We had our first date on the eleventh.” Genji visibly swallowed a lump in his throat.

“Hanzo,” he said cautiously, “does Jesse know you aren’t counting the convention?”   
  
“Why would he count the convention?” Hanzo scowled. “That was your machination. We hardly knew each other.”

“Brother,” Genji said, hands raised defensively. “You spent three hours together in a coffee shop and two more at a restaurant for dinner. Most people would consider that a date.”

Hanzo’s expression clouded.

“Do you… think he counted it?” Hanzo’s eyes widened in shock and dread as he recalculated the calendar. “But then-- no wonder he was so insistent on dinner--!” he trailed off in a stream of curses unfit for repetition in print and began to hunt for his phone.

“Someone’s in trouble,” Genji whistled.

“If you are not going to help, then get out of the way,” Hanzo snapped, digging under his files. Genji reached over and picked up the phone from its charging station on the shelf.

“I will do both,” he said. “I have helped, and now I will get out of your way. Good luck, brother!”

Hanzo waved distractedly as Genji showed himself out. He pulled up Jesse’s number, hit CALL, and waited… but not for long. It immediately went to voicemail, too fast for Jesse to have even hit IGNORE. He glanced at the time. Midday. ‘High noon,’ as Jesse liked to call it, drawing it out like he was announcing a duel in a cheesy western film. McCree’s hours varied greatly, but even he wasn’t likely to sleep at this time of day.

Hanzo opened his mouth to leave a message, and his throat closed up instead. Anxiety and apologies clogged his airway. The answering machine eventually timed out and prompted him to send or re-record; he tried again, and this time he managed a shaky, “I’m sorry” before his imagination produced a vision of Jesse deleting his message unheard.

“I am sorry,” he texted with a tremor in his hands. “I thought the eleventh was our first date. I was not counting the convention.”

“I am sorry I snapped at you.”  
  
“I am sorry I let my work distract me. I am sorry I was disrespectful of yours.”

“I am sorry.”

“Please call me?”

The messages sat, unread.

Hanzo left another voicemail expressing the same sentiment again, but refrained from a third. If McCree was ignoring them purposefully, there would be little to gain by annoying him with a flood. If, by some twisted miracle, he was simply missing them, there was nothing further Hanzo could do to alert him to their presence.

An hour passed, lost somewhere in the stir of fear and dread that gnawed at him. There was no word from Jesse. Hanzo went downstairs and knocked on the door of 2B. No answer. He went back upstairs and stared at the wall again until exhaustion caught back up with him. He slept fitfully, on the couch and clutching his phone. No message from Jesse woke him up. He dreamed of their last conversation, dreamed about being dragged away from Jesse by endless spreadsheets, dreamed about dismissing Jesse with the same coldness that he used to banish Genji, and dreamed of coming back ten years too late.

He woke again to the sound of the door downstairs shutting and something shuffling around inside. He moved before he realized what he was doing, throwing open the balcony door and dropping down to McCree’s porch below.

A woman screamed. A watering can flew at his face. Under normal circumstances he might have been able to duck or bat it out of the way, but his reflexes were far from their peak. It hit him and bounced off, splashing water everywhere.

“Oh, Hanzo, I’m sorry!” Lena from 3A gasped. “You just came out of nowhere--”

“What are you doing in Jesse’s place?” Hanzo asked, holding his aching head.   
  
“He asked me to water his plants?” She gestured helplessly to the fallen can. “He said he didn’t want to bother you while you were working.” Hanzo winced for reasons other than the developing bruise. Dismay and guilt dragged him deeper down, but he schooled his expression and forced himself to stay upright.

“Did he say when he would return?”

Lena paused.

“Come to think of it, no, he didn’t. He usually just knocks again after he gets back,” she mused. “Either that, or I come in and find him passed out under some books. Didn’t he tell you?” Hanzo’s blood turned to ice. He shook his head. Her open expression clouded momentarily before she rallied. “I’m sure he won’t be too long. He’d have asked me to get the mail otherwise.”

Hanzo took a breath to agree, but the words died in his lungs and he had to settle for a nod. He climbed back up to his own balcony without the warmth of Jesse’s hand on his back to steady him. In the silence of his apartment, he waited for the phone to ring.

It didn’t.

  
Life, unfortunately, waited for no man. Hanzo had to drag himself to work the next morning, where he was forced to review and submit the monstrous pile of reports he’d done over the weekend at the possible expense of his only non-familial relationship. It was torturous. He had never cultivated workplace connections to the point where any of his coworkers felt comfortable asking him what was wrong; they simply assumed he was sick, and kept their distance in case he was contagious. By lunchtime he was visibly drooping; by the end of the day, people were crossing to the other side of the hall to avoid the potential plague.

Hanzo dragged himself home, stopping only by to the stores to pick up sake and ice cream. He had the distinct feeling he was going to need them both. Festering just under his diaphragm was the urge to simply collapse into bed and pull the covers over his head until the world went away, and he barely managed to shove the ice cream in the fridge before he dropped onto the sofa. He stared at the phone in his hand. Still no call, no message, nothing. He tried to muster up some anger or indignation; surely Jesse must have seen his apologies by now. Surely he should have come to some some conclusion, even if it were only to tell Hanzo to fuck off and stop bothering him. Surely…

Surely he was kidding himself. Surely this was the break-up he deserved. No final fight, no desperate plea. Just silence. Hanzo closed his eyes and let sleep work it’s bleak mercy on him.

In the darkness, he heard a sound that made his heart leap. The door downstairs opened and shut. His brain denied; there were four apartments below his. Any one of them could be that door. Muted footsteps across the floor; any of the careless neighbors. The slide of a balcony door; probably just water through the pipes…?

A pause, wherein his imagination provided a click, a sizzle, and a deep inhale before his brain actually registered the sigh of a smoker indulging in a long-denied nicotine fix. Hanzo, too heart sick for adrenaline, sat up slowly. He padded up to the balcony door but stopped with his hand by the handle, frozen by the sight of a thin plume of smoke rising from the balcony below. It could only mean one thing. Biting his lip, Hanzo turned away from the door.

McCree leaned on his balcony railing and blew out a ring of smoke that floated up to the early stars. As usual, there was nothing like the great outdoors to clear a man’s head and put his own petty hurts into perspective. A few days of roughing it, and he felt like the stress and sorrows just burned away under the sun. It would still be a while before his phone’s battery charged enough for him to see what he missed while he was gone, but until then, he could still pretend he was off the grid.

Above him, there was the soft swish of a balcony door opening. Jesse turned in time to see Hanzo peer over the edge, his face unreadable.

“Hey there--” he started to say, and then Hanzo pitched something over the railing to him. Jesse’s ancestral shit starter and shit stopper abruptly seized control via genetic memory, and he caught what turned out to be a pint of ice cream before it could clock him in the head. “Han--?!” He looked up again, and then saw Hanzo all but topple over the edge and tumble towards him.

Jesse wrested control from his ancestors, dropped the ice cream, and caught Hanzo instead. The man blinked at him as if still half asleep, rubbing his fingers clumsily over Jesse’s shirt.

“Oh,” Hanzo mumbled. “It is you.”

“Uh, yeah…” Jesse blinked. “Were you expecting someone else?”

“I thought I might be dreaming.” A crooked half-smile quirked Jesse’s lips, but it died quickly as Hanzo’s brows knitted together and he clutched the worn fabric. “You didn’t answer.”

“Oh, shit, did you try to call?” “Jesse eased his way back into his apartment and laid Hanzo down on the couch, only to find that Hanzo refused to relinquish his grip on his shirt. “I’m sorry, darling, I don’t get signal out there, and my battery died by the end of the day. What happened? Everything all right?”

“I am sorry,” Hanzo said, though it came out at first barely more than a whisper. “I did not mean… Please… I am sorry.”

“Oh,” Jesse replied softly. “Is that what this is about?”

“I thought our anniversary was Thursday. I was not counting the convention. I was trying to get everything done in time so I could surprise you… but that was no excuse for my rudeness. You were right to leave me. I was an asshole.” The contrition on Hanzo’s face turned inwards, to cold self-recrimination. The fingers gripping Jesse’s flannel went slack and caught in the folds as Hanzo's hand fell back to his chest.

  
“It wasn’t one of your finer moments,” Jesse agreed. “But I do forgive you.”

Hanzo’s head snapped up so fast that he almost caught Jesse under the chin.

“You--?” He choked on his own hope. It seemed so easy. Too easy. First Genji, now McCree… How could these people keep forgiving him so easily when he hurt them so deeply without hesitation? “It is not-- how? Why?”

Jesse breathed out slowly.

“Lemme get the ice cream before it melts all over my porch, all right?” He gave Hanzo’s hand a squeeze, then kissed his forehead. “Land’s sake, but we’re a mess.”

It barely took more than a minute for Jesse to retrieve the carton from his porch and a spoon from the kitchen, but in that time he found Hanzo had turned his face towards the couch cushions and was struggling mightily to quietly bury his emotions. Jesse nudged him into sitting up a moment, then crawled in next to him so that Hanzo’s head was on his lap.

“I could hear you jumping to all sorts of conclusions from the kitchen,” he said, cracking open the carton and digging out a spoonful. He took a bite; Hanzo always picked the best ice cream.

“If you have any recommendations on how to stop, I would appreciate hearing them,” Hanzo muttered into his stomach. Jesse fed him some ice cream too.

“First of all, I’m going to take a wild stab in the dark and say you didn’t get my memo.”

“Memo?”

“I didn’t leave you, honey. I went camping.”

“Camping?”

Jesse spooned more chocolate-strawberry into his mouth.

“When I’m feeling mad, or down, or really burnt out, I’ll go out and reconvene with Mother Nature. Rough it for a little while in the middle of nowhere with just me and the barest necessities.”

The look Hanzo gave him was nearly identical to the one Genji gave him the first time the other Shimada brother heard about Jesse’s idea of “camping”.

“Are you insane? You could die!” Hanzo pushed away a bite with a large chunk of strawberry, implacable to mere offerings. Jesse shrugged and ate it himself.

“I know what I’m doing,” he said. “The point is, I left a note on your door, but for some reason, it didn’t get to you, and you didn’t hear from me for, what, three days?”

Hanzo nodded slowly.

“Were you mad? Are you mad?”

Hanzo shook his head.

“I tried to be,” he said. “I was too afraid I had driven you away, the same way I--” His voice broke, and Jesse offered him another bite of ice cream. Hanzo took the small mercy.

“Do you forgive me for storming out and not telling you proper where I was going?” Hanzo nodded immediately, but Jesse pulled the spoon away and set it in the carton. “I mean it, darling. I may have been mad, but I made you think I walked out on you without a word. You sure you still want me around?”

Hanzo immediately seized Jesse by the shirt in an iron grip as he dragged himself upright.

“I would rather have you than a grudge,” he said. “I would most definitely rather have you mad at me than not have you at all.”

“Well, that’s the same for me,” Jesse said, leaning their foreheads together. “I’d rather have you, and so, I forgive you.”

“You all make it sound so easy,” Hanzo muttered. Jesse kissed the tip of his nose and laughed when Hanzo scowled at him.

“It’s not,” Jesse replied. “Not when the hurt is big. But this was miscommunication, and we were both stressed out and probably shouldn’t have been trying so hard to be right.”

“You were right,” Hanzo pointed out.

“Even a stopped clock is accurate twice a day.” Jesse grinned, and Hanzo poked him in the side.

“You are far wiser than you feign,” he said, “and far more patient than I deserve.”

Jesse kissed him again, sweet and soft for reasons unrelated to the melting chocolate-strawberry ice cream.

“Now, I have it on good authority that we have a rather important date coming up on Thursday, and I’d like to discuss some options on how to celebrate with you.”

“You truly wish to stay with me?” Hanzo asked, though relief was already seeping through his posture.

“Darling, I really and truly do. Even if it means you’re throwing prunes at me when we’re both old and grey.”

Hanzo laid his head against Jesse’s shoulder and took back his ice cream. Old and grey? He liked the sound of that.

“Next time...” and oh, how he loved the promise of a future hidden in those words, “let’s go camping together.”

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to @PoptartsUnlimited for beta-ing.


End file.
